


Death, Blood, Love, and Other Addictions

by Maintenant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Bonds, F/M, Mates, Multi, No bashing though, Soulmates, definite threesome, not for Bella lovers, potential threesome, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-10-06 06:12:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10327547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maintenant/pseuds/Maintenant
Summary: When Azalea Potter arrives in Port Angeles, it's in search of the only family she has left. When she stays there two years, it's because she's too cowardly to take the final steps to Forks and finally meet them. But that's all right because she makes a friend at a bar, who then brings her husband, who then brings his truck, and then their sister invites herself, and then Azalea meets all the rest. And then they're all shocked when she tells them she knew they were vampires all along.In the end, Azalea has two families, and perhaps even more...





	1. Rosalie Might Just Kill Someone Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Harry Potter
> 
> A/N: First twilight fanfiction! Will warn you: I'm not a great Bella fan, though I don't hate her.
> 
> Just trying things out and seeing where they go.

Rosalie has had just about enough.

She's a veggie vamp, as her husband is so fond of calling them, so she doesn't drink blood from humans.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't want to kill them.

She wonders, sometimes, if that makes her better or worse than the red-eyed vampires. At least they only really kill in order to feed themselves.

Rosalie feels the urge to kill just for the pleasure of killing itself.

In this very instance, she feels like killing the two human men salivating in front of her in particular.

There's absolutely nothing appetizing about their scent. They smell like sweat, alcohol, and bathroom stalls, and Rosalie – very much involuntarily, she assures you - knows one of them has thrown up in the last 48 hours.

No, Rosalie doesn't want to eat these men.

But oh, snapping their necks and pulling their hearts out is incredibly tempting.

This is why Rosalie hates coming to bars.

Now, don't get her wrong. Rosalie very much likes the attention (from both men and women), in fact, she revels in it.

They _should_ praise her beauty; admire it from afar. They should be honored to even get the opportunity.

But just because she's beautiful (and she knows she is) doesn't allow these random men to approach her and then _refuse to leave._

She's gorgeous – thanks, she knows. Now if you could kindly get over it and fuck off, she'd appreciate it.

The two men in front of her had been jabbering away for nigh on ten minutes now (already ten minutes too long, Rosalie thought), and everything Rosalie said seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

(She's not too surprised. It appears there isn't _anything_ between the two ears.)

It's like the idiots were  _trying_ to get killed. 

Rosalie has zero tolerance for cocky men that think every woman will simply fall into their arms. Even less for men who don't seem to understand the word "No".

(A small part of her whispers it's because they remind her too much of her fiancée from when she was a human. She ignores this part and tells herself it's really just because she's a bona fide diva with such a large ego there's no space for other people's. Besides, these scum should know their place.)

Rosalie actually came here because she had a fight with Emmett.

This is not an uncommon occurrence. She and Emmett fight pretty often, but the make-up sex is always great so she doesn't mind too much.

Rosalie doesn't quite remember why they started fighting this time, but she knows she's not giving in until he grovels appropriately. It doesn't matter if it turns out she's wrong; there's no way she'll be the first to apologize.

Or apologize at all, really.

(Rosalie has a lot of pride. It was cruelly beaten out of her, along with her dignity and everything that made her _her_ when she was human, and now she couldn't – couldn't, not wouldn't but really actually physically _could not_ – give up even a part of it, even if it was to a person she loved and trusted like Emmett.

It was one of the reasons she and Edward hadn't worked, no matter how much Carlisle wished it at the time. Both of them were entirely too proud and unyielding. Besides, they weren't mates so it wouldn't have worked out even if they _had_ been compatible.)

But Emmett understands her limitations and doesn't mind them. He's always the one to say sorry, to remind her how much he loves her, to show how he cherishes her, and Rosalie may put up a token protest but it generally doesn't last long and she quickly melts back into his arms.

But right now she's mad at him, and her pride won't allow her to think pleasant thoughts of him.

Which is why she's at this shitty bar in the middle of shitty Port Angeles getting hit on by shitty guys.

She's just about to make it _exceptionally clear_ how much she doesn't appreciate their pathetic attempts at seduction (although she believed the "Fuck off" she had given them earlier had been fairly clear – but some idiots need a little more _elaboration_ ), when someone approaches her from behind.

"Hello, darling," A sensual female voice with a British accent purrs from behind Rosalie. "I hope you didn't have to wait long."


	2. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger is charming, Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber are confused, and Rosalie is intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Harry Potter
> 
> A/N: Thanks to everyone who read, bookmarked, or gave a kudos! Special thank you to Angelicsailor for commenting! I really appreciate all the support!

The British stranger with the sexy voice places an arm behind Rosalie's chair, giving the illusion of intimacy to those in front of them but being careful not to invade the vampire's personal space. Rosalie appreciates that, as she's had far too many people pretend to "save" her from guys hitting on her just to try to hit on her themselves and cop a feel in the process.

Those people had quickly learned that Rosalie doesn't tolerate that kind of thing.

Very quickly.

When Rosalie turns to face her wannabe rescuer (as though Rosalie really needs rescuing. It is the two men the stranger is rescuing, not that the woman knows that), Rosalie is arrested with the greenest eyes she's ever seen before – as green as Rosalie's eyes are gold, or perhaps even greener than that. The green seems liquid, almost, as though they are pools of molten emeralds, and Rosalie almost drowns in them.

The eyes are adorned by thick black lashes, encased in a petite, heart-shaped face and pale, moonlit skin. Rosalie is so focused on the stranger's eyes she almost misses the hair, which is shocking because the hair is a dark, ruby red that Rosalie has never seen on another vampire or human before.

When Rosalie finally tears her gaze away from the stranger's face, she realizes the British woman has the body to match it. It's all curves and toned muscles, covered by a knee-length dress that would have looked old-fashioned on anyone else but somehow looks alluring on the woman. Rosalie thinks it's the serene confidence the woman holds herself with, or perhaps the strange mix of elegant composure and contained power she exudes. Having observed this kind of controlled power in Jasper for years, Rosalie would guess at some sort of military background, but she can't tell for sure. The woman seems awfully young for that, anyway. Although, as Rosalie sneaks another peak at the stranger, she does seem to have matured in all the right places despite her age…

Well.

The vampiress is forced to admit the stranger is absolutely stunning.

Rosalie may have to confront the fact that this human girl in front of her – because she has to be human, Rosalie can hear her heart beat in steady pumps – might just be as beautiful as she is (Rosalie says only _as_ beautiful, because there is no way she'll even contemplate the possibility of a human, or vampire for that matter, being more beautiful than her, however friendly she might be).

Rosalie is a jealous woman who doesn't share attention well, so she should, by all rights, dislike this beautiful woman, but for some reason she can't bring herself to. Perhaps it's the hint of protectiveness the stranger is exhibiting in Rosalie's defense, even if misplaced, or the way she boldly stares down two bigger men for the sake of a complete stranger that looked like she was being bothered at a bar.

Or perhaps Rosalie herself is a little taken away with the stranger's beauty.

A glance back at the Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber in front of her show that the effect is even more pronounced on them.

Taking maximum advantage of the stupor of the two men, the stranger turned piercing green eyes back on Rosalie.

"I do believe you promised me a dance, love. You know I don't like coming to these places if we don't dance," The stranger continues the charade.

Feeling uncommonly playful – that was usually her husband's role, not hers – Rosalie decides to let loose a little and grabs the stranger's hand, making moves to get up and dance with this intriguing woman.

Seeing that the woman they had been hitting on was being taken away, Tweedle Dumb manages to break out of his trance and protests angrily, "Hey, hey, lady! You can't just take her away! Can't you see we were talking?"

The stranger tilts her head in innocent confusion, "Oh, dear. I seemed to have been under the impression that talking involved the exchange of words between _both_ parties. I thought you were practicing a Shakespearean soliloquy and just happened to be facing her."

"A Shakepear what?" Rosalie laughs at the utter confusion on their faces.

"Don't think about it too hard, boys, I reckon you don't do it too often and your brain isn't used to the exercise. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourselves."

"Are you making fun of us?" Tweedle Dumber growls in what Rosalie is sure he thinks of as a threatening tone. The idiot even puffs out his chest and flexes his arms, obviously used to using his height to intimidate others. Rosalie thinks he looks like a peacock.

Rosalie turns and finds, somehow to her utter lack of surprise, that the stranger is completely unaffected.

"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you mate?" The stranger smirks, flipping silky ruby locks behind her shoulder.

"Who the hell are you, sweet cheeks?" Tweedle Dumb blusters, face getting red, and Rosalie is distinctly reminded an angry tomato. Ah, so he's finally understood she was mocking him.

"The girlfriend," The stranger smiles. Rosalie can't help but think of a wild animal bearing its fangs, and a frisson goes down her spine. It is quickly dismissed. How ridiculous. After all, what could Rosalie, a vampire, the strongest of the supernatural races, have to fear from a mere human, no matter how confidently she holds herself?

Some time later, Rosalie is known to have repeatedly hit her head against the nearest wall for ever ignoring this feeling.

It certainly would have saved her a lot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Authors live off of comments! Please leave one if you like it!
> 
> Despite what it seems, Rosalie is not the main character for this story! There will be many different POVs, mostly Azalea's once the story gets going. But for now we're watching through Rosalie's eyes.


	3. Flowers and Badly Chosen Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosalie finds out she doesn't remember how to interact with humans. Azalea laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight
> 
> A/N: I want to give a big thank you to Angelicsailor, YazzyFic, and heldi for commenting! You're all wonderful and your support means so much to me. I'm glad you guys like my Azalea!
> 
> Here we have the beginning of an Azalea-Rosalie friendship! Enjoy! Romance will come later, guys.

“What?” Tweedle Dumber stares at the stranger dumbly.

 

“Did you not understand?” The green-eyed stranger asks, and Rosalie is impressed at the sheer condescension the woman manages to put into her tone. Rosalie doesn’t think even _she_ can match such levels of condescension, and she’s an expert at looking down on people and making sure they _know_ it. And the stranger isn’t done, either, “You see, when a woman loves a woman very much-”

 

“I know what it means!” Tweedle Dumber becomes redder, and if he didn’t look like a tomato before, he definitely does now.

 

“Then you understand what you should do, now, right?” The stranger doesn’t miss a beat. “Although maybe that’s expecting too much from you, so let me spell it out,” the stranger makes sure to enunciate her next words slowly and carefully, perfectly ruby red lips moving slowly and clearly, “Get. Lost.”

 

Tweedle Dumber looks just about ready to explode, when Tweedle Dumb decides it’s his turn to make an ass of himself.

 

He gets even closer to Rosalie, and the only reason Rosalie doesn’t break his nose right then and there is because she’s just done her nails, and she admits she’s a bit curious about what the stranger will do in the face of this new situation. “Babe, why don’t you ditch that girlfriend of yours and let me show you what being with a real man is like.”

 

Rosalie is revolted. She wonders if this is what Tanya and her mate have to deal with every time they go out in public.

 

The thought only reinforces how very uncivilized humans are.

 

Tweedle Dumb turns back to the stranger, presumably to tell her off or say something cocky about showing Rosalie – the stranger’s girlfriend, apparently, and how strange is _that_ since the last person who tried that hadn’t been able to move his neck properly for a good month - a good time, but upon looking at the emerald-eyed redhead he looks unsure as to whom exactly he should be hitting on, the blonde bombshell or the stunning redhead. Rosalie would be insulted if she weren’t also ever so slightly entranced by the stranger’s beauty.

 

Only slightly, though. Very slightly.

 

“I would suggest you take step back from my girlfriend.” The stranger smiles, but the baring of teeth looks more like a threat than anything else.

 

“And if I don’t?” Tweedle Dumb either doesn’t register the threat or doesn’t care, and gets even closer to Rosalie so that he’s practically breathing on her. Rosalie promises herself a nice, relaxing rose bath after this. She can’t believe she has to share air with this disgusting waste of space.

 

She’ll have Emmett pick up the roses.

 

The stranger opens her mouth to say something else, but Rosalie has had quite enough.

 

Rosalie is not a damsel in distress. Hasn’t been in a long time. The only reason she has been so silent this entire time is because the stranger was amusing her. Rosalie had found herself… _curious_ , she supposed, about what the redhead would do next.  

 

Vampires live long lives and sources of true curiosity are few and far between. When one comes up, they latch on until they are bored. So when the stranger came up, Rosalie chose to observe.

 

But Rosalie is tired of being quiet and playing submissive. It’s not like her. She doesn’t do it very well.

 

With no hesitation whatsoever, Rosalie stomps a beautiful stiletto-clad heel down onto Tweedle Dumb’s ever so fragile human foot. Not enough force to shatter it, but enough so that he’d _really_ feel it. The big brute immediately jumps back from her, clutching his foot comically.

 

“Bitch! What did you do that for?” Tweedle Dumber yells at her, his partner still in too much pain to be mad, although Rosalie is sure that will come later.

 

Rosalie throws luscious golden locks behind her with a perfectly manicured hand. “He should feel lucky I didn’t aim for his balls,” She scowls, feeling her golden eyes glow a bit, the sudden spike in her bloodlust finally making something deep inside the humans in front of her subconsciously register her as predator and _dangerous_ , “For getting so close to me, I should have made sure he’d never be able to have children.”

 

Grabbing onto the stranger’s wrist, Rosalie drags the uproariously laughing woman away from the idiots, one too stunned to move and the other still clutching his foot in pain.

 

.

.

.

 

When they step outside the bar and into the fresh air, the stranger is still laughing.

 

“It’s not that funny,” Rosalie pouts. She’s not used to being laughed at.

 

“Oh, but it really was.” The stranger manages to regain her breath enough to form words. She shoots Rosalie a sardonic smile, “You didn’t need me at all, did you?”

 

“Of course not,” Rosalie sniffs. As if she would ever need anybody else’s help.

 

The stranger laughs again, and Rosalie is sure the woman is laughing at her. She is not used to being laughed at.

 

“So what’s your name?” The stranger asks, “I can’t keep calling you ‘love’ and ‘darling’, now, can I?”

 

Rosalie’s response is automatic, “It’s rude to ask for someone else’s name without giving yours first.”

 

The vampiress scowls.

 

It is not at the stranger however, but at herself. She’s so used to being a bitch she can’t stop, even when she wants to.

 

And… to her infinite surprise, she finds that she doesn’t really want to antagonize this woman. The redhead is interesting.

 

Rosalie apparently has nothing to worry about, because the stranger just laughs again.

 

“All right, all right, that’s fair. My name is Azalea,” She smiles. “It’s a bit of a mouthful, I know.”

 

Rosalie is distinctly reminded of her husband in the stranger’s easygoing manners and total lack of offense at Rosalie’s rudeness. The thought endears the stranger to Rosalie a little more.

 

“My name is Rosalie,” the vampire responds. And wait, is she supposed to say something after that? She hasn’t been introduced to any humans in so long – Edward’s human doesn’t count because Rosalie couldn’t (and still can’t) stand the quivering girl and so doesn’t make any effort to be pleasant – and can’t remember how introductions go. How do you even start a conversation with a new acquaintance?

 

“Did your mother’s line also have a ridiculous tradition of naming their daughters after flowers, or is that just me?” Azalea chuckles.

 

Oh good, the stranger – Azalea – spoke. Now Rosalie can just answer the question.

 

“No.” Oh, hell, Rosalie can’t just end it there, can she? She’s not so pathetically antisocial that she’s reduced to monosyllabic answers, surely? Why, that would make her like Edward’s human! Rosalie racks her brain for something to say. “My mother was simply fond of roses. She had a lovely rose garden back in the day.”

 

Thank God. Rosalie managed to say something that contributes to the conversation. Who knew talking to people was so hard?

 

“Wish my parents had named me Rose or Rosalie,” Azalea huffs faux-petulantly. “Now _there’s_ a flower that is perfectly acceptable as a girl’s name. No odd looks _there_ ,” Azalea complains. “Violet, Jasmine, Amaryllis… there was even a Lavender in my class at school. If they absolutely _had_ to name me after a flower, they could have very well used those perfectly normal, easy to pronounce names,” she gave a theatrical sigh. “But no, my parents decided on _Azalea._ Ah-zah-lay-ah. It’s difficult to say, isn’t it?”

 

Rosalie doesn’t think so, but then she speaks six different languages (She is perfectly aware she speaks the least number of languages, right after Emmet, amongst the family, but she frankly doesn’t see the use for more. Edward’s twenty-three is just excessive).

 

Despite the woman’s complaints, Rosalie gets the impression that despite her words, Azalea wouldn’t have her name any other way.

 

And besides, Rosalie somehow doesn’t think that a name as common as Rose (she won’t mention Rosalie because there is nothing common about her, not her name or anything else) would suit the stranger. She’d need something exotic, something mysterious, something that rolls off the tongue with just a little bit of difficulty. Azalea suits the woman.

 

 “Azalea suits you.” The words come out unbidden, and Rosalie is glad she hasn’t fed earlier today because it means there’s not enough blood in her system to make her blush.

 

The woman’s gaze holds something unnamable, but it disappears in an instant, back to the light-heartedness of before.

 

“So you think I’m difficult, do you?” She teases. “Difficult name for a difficult person.”

 

“Of course you’re difficult, you idiot. I just met you and even I can tell that,” Rosalie gruffs.

 

Seconds later, she cringes inwardly when she realizes what she’s said. She’s pretty sure that social niceties dictate she shouldn’t insult the person she wants to get to know better within moments of meeting each other.

 

Rosalie and her uncontrollable tongue! Why is it that she goes from unable to say a word to cuttingly belligerent? Why does she have no middle ground?!

 

The vampiress is surprised to realize that she is disappointed at the fact she won’t be able to continue this conversation with the human – with _Azalea._ Perhaps she should have practiced her social interaction skills with those not worth her time, if only to be able to not offend someone she might actually not dislike.

 

Rosalie is so wrapped up in her own self-chastisement that she startles a bit when Azalea laughs again. “Well, you’re not wrong there. I know quite a few people that would agree with you.” The woman doesn’t look offended in the least. “But something tells me you’re no walk in the park either.”

 

Rosalie scowls, and is just about to protest when Azalea bumps into her playfully, not at all reacting even upon touching Rosalie’s freezing skin.

 

“Lighten up, princess.” She smiles, her friendly tone taking any bite out of her words. “Let’s go be difficult together. Come on, I still haven’t drunk enough tonight and we can’t go back to the bar where those two idiots are. I know a nice place around here that serves amazing cocktails.”

 

The woman starts walking away, ruby red hair swaying behind her and forming an oddly hypnotizing view.

 

After a few steps, she turns back to Rosalie, emerald eyes sparkling.

 

“Well? Are you coming or not?”

 

Rosalie doesn’t think anyone has ever talked to her that way before.

 

She goes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Comment if you like it!


	4. Azalea and the Fabulous Hollywood Vegetarian Vampire Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azalea's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight
> 
> A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support! I keep rereading all your comments like an absolute addict!

Azalea has been in Port Angles for almost two years now.

 

She’s not entirely sure what she’s doing at the moment.

 

She knows why she left Wizarding Britain - She left for… various _complicated_ reasons, but chief among them was the very simple desire to find the rest of her family. After the war ended, she had done the standard genealogy test back in Britain (Voldemort may have been killed, but wizards were still very focused on blood and lineage, and don’t even get Azalea _started_ on that) and found, much to her shock, that she has family in Forks, Washington; a small, rainy town in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

 

So why is she currently at a bar that is most pointedly not in Forks, drinking overly priced scotch instead of hunting down her family?

 

She’d like to say it’s because she wants to be based in a big city, which Forks is definitely not.

 

She’d like to say it’s because Port Angeles has a surprising number of nice restaurants, and Azalea would like to relax and be free a bit before tying herself down to one place.

 

She’d like to say it’s because she has pressing business in Port Angeles, business that demanded she stay here for the last two years.

 

The truth?

 

The truth is it’s because she’s a coward.

 

Upon finding out she has family in Forks, Azalea had almost immediately packed up all her things, settled all her affairs, and flown over to the United States (the muggle way – and wasn’t that a nerve-wracking experience she promised herself to _never do ever again_ \- so that the American Ministry of Magic wouldn’t be alerted as to her presence). She had arrived at Port Angeles, a mere few hours by car out of Forks, filled with hope and determination and then just… stopped.

 

Because Azalea has shit luck (as befitting a Potter), carries a hell of a lot of baggage, and who the Hell is she to just barge into these people’s lives like they owe her something?

 

And if she does, then what? What if they do get to know her and then don’t like her? Her other biological family certainly doesn’t, and couldn’t be happier to be rid of her. What if there is just something about Azalea that is deeply undesirable in a family member?

 

She… She really doesn’t want to go through the rejection again.

 

In the first few years of living with the Dursleys, Azalea had desperately, pathetically, tried to be liked, and when failure after failure and rejection after rejection had worn her down, cracked something deep inside her, chipped at some essential, unnamable thing, and Azalea had finally reached a point where one more rejection would have broken her, she had decided, at the grand age of six, that she would reject the Dursleys as well, and the decision had protected the battered remains of her fragile heart.

 

Azalea is the Girl-Who-Lived, Woman-Who-Conquered, the indomitable Lady Black, and she feels like that little girl of six again, hopeful yet fearful, too young to prepare herself for disappointment, even with the firm knowledge that it is the most probable outcome, hoping against hope that this time it might be different, that there has been a change of heart, that if she changes one small thing about herself, if she weeds the garden one more time, if she makes an extra-delicious breakfast, if she is extra quiet when they lock her in her cupboard, then maybe they’d realize they were wrong before and that they’d love her at least a quarter as much as they love Dudley, or maybe just an eighth as much, even just a teensy weeny tiny little bit.

 

Azalea feels fragile and uncertain- she doesn’t know if she can take rejection from her new family.

 

It might break her.

 

With rough, jerky movements, Azalea downs the rest of her scotch and slams the glass back down, not bothering to notice the small jump the man sitting besides her gives at the sound.

 

What is she, a child? A baby whining for its mummy? What happened to the woman who has faced down death countless times and won, to the woman who has killed basilisks and Death Eaters, to the woman who has faced down a hoard of hundreds of dementors?

 

Bloody hell, forget all of that. What happened to the eleven-year-old girl who was put into the house of the lion, “where dwell the brave of heart”?

 

One look at the bartender has him refilling her glass with more of the overpriced scotch.

 

Blast it all, she’s pretty sure her Gryffindor courage died right alongside Voldemort that fateful battle.

 

Azalea takes a sip of her drink, gives herself enough time this time to savor the taste and feel the burn go down her throat.

 

What a joke.

 

.

.

.

 

Azalea spots the blonde as soon the girl enters the bar. It’s hard not to, really, as the whole bar seems to focus its attention on the blonde, as though there was some sort of magnetic pull to her.

 

Azalea can’t even blame them, really. The blonde is gorgeous, blonde luscious locks, smooth creamy skin, legs that go on for miles and miles only accentuated by heels that Azalea knows she’d wouldn’t be able to take a step in without falling on her face, all done in that glamorous Hollywood way of Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly. Except there’s none of Monroe’s innocent charm – this blonde looks like she’s on a warpath and in need of a good drink.

 

Cheers, blonde girl. Azalea can sympathize. We’ve all been there.

 

So when Azalea sees the blonde get hit on by two idiots, posture stiff and uncomfortable, Azalea doesn’t even think twice before intervening.

 

Frankly, the girl looks like she could use a break. Girls on warpaths do not come to bars in order to get hit on by guys, and these guys don’t look like they’re picking up any of the hints she’s putting down.

 

There’s a lot of ways to get a girl out of uncomfortable situations with guys. Azalea has it perfected down to an art form. One is to grab the girl and use the whole ‘girls don’t go to the bathroom alone’ excuse to sneak off. Another is to just show up and start crying about a guy who cheated on her or some other nonsense, and then drag the girl with her and away from the guys to be ‘comforted’. Yet another is to imply somehow that the girl has an STD – a desperate and often unwelcome measure Azalea has yet to have to resort to.

 

Azalea isn’t a fan of perpetuating gender stereotypes, crying, or inventing diseases, though, so she generally chooses the classic “We’re dating” route.

 

She just doesn’t expect the girl to be a vampire.

 

Although frankly, considering her Potter luck, she shouldn’t be surprised.

 

And a fabulous vegetarian vampire princess with an attitude, on top of that.

 

.

.

.

 

“Azalea suits you.”

 

She stops a bit at the vampire’s – Rosalie’s - words.

 

Azalea has always struggled with her name, bit of a love hate relationship there.

 

The Azalea is considered “The Royalty of the Garden”, and she’s sure her parents had good intentions when naming her.

 

The Azalea symbolizes elegance, wealth, femininity, and an abundance of beauty and intelligence.

 

While Azalea knows she’s no great beauty (Aunt Petunia has said it enough times that she has no doubts. If Dumbledore sought to prevent her from getting a big head by setting her up to live with her muggle relatives away from the fame, then he definitely nailed that one, the old codger), she likes to think she’s averagely pretty. Azalea also considers herself rather smart, definitely very wealthy, and elegance has been beaten into her by Aunt Cissa once the Malfoy nee Black found out Azalea’s role as the new Lady Black.

 

(You can put any piece of seemingly useless and random cutlery in front of Azalea, and she will recognize it. She can differentiate the dinner fork, the fish fork, the luncheon fork, the salad fork, the seafood fork, and even the more specialized forks like the fruit fork, the snail fork, the strawberry fork (because apparently strawberries aren’t bloody fruits anymore), the lobster fork, and the ice cream fork.

 

Excellent use of her time, that.)

 

The azalea also symbolizes wishing to return home, caring for family, fragile and burgeoning passion.

 

And isn’t that just hilarious.

 

Azalea has always thought this ironic, for she has no home to return to, no family to care for or be cared by, and the hesitant passion she had allowed herself to experience died along with her lover at the Battle of Hogwarts.

 

Her name mocks her.

 

Most ironic of all, however, is the azalea’s final meaning.

 

When given in a black vase, the Azalea is a death threat.

 

A death threat.

 

Azaleas are incredibly toxic. Even honey drawn from them is a life-threatening poison, and Azalea can’t help but give a sharp, barked laugh at how very bloody _fitting_ her name is.

 

Yes, Azalea supposes her name does suit her.

 

.

.

.

 

To Azalea’s pleasant surprise, she has a good time with the Hollywood vampire princess.

 

After they leave the bar with the two idiots, Azalea leads Rosalie to a place with the _best_ margaritas. The music is good – though Azalea is still getting used to muggle American’s more rowdy tastes. In the Wizarding World classical pieces dominate all social spaces, with the occasional slightly more modern but still rather classy Weird Sisters or maybe the British National Frog Choir. Azalea finds them bar stools right next to the bar’s sink, and politely looks away from Rosalie and the bar in order to give the blonde vampiress ample opportunity to discretely throw her drink away at regular intervals.

 

Knowing how annoying it can sometimes be to deal with a drunk, and rarely indulging in true loss of control herself, Azalea monitors her sobriety levels by using magic to metabolize the alcohol she ingests.

 

She and Rosalie talk all night long, both of them giving carefully edited life stories, but laughing raucously and making fun of all of the men brave or dumb enough to approach them.

 

At the end of the night, they both go their separate ways, but with each other’s numbers carefully saved on their phones.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we get a look at Azalea's perspective. She is indeed a bit bitter at the moment, and I can see her and Rosalie getting on like a house on fire. Romance will come, but right now I'm kind of low-key just happy with this friendship.
> 
> Leave a comment if you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Leave a comment if you think I should continue!
> 
> And I hate obnoxious guys at bars that keep hitting on you despite you clearly not wanting anything.


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